


Gestures

by xenosaurus



Series: Shield High School [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Deaf Clint Barton, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Issues, Foster Care, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenosaurus/pseuds/xenosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has two families: one that takes care of him, and one that doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clint

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few content warnings:
> 
> *This fic contains the heavy implication of sex between two 18 year old high schoolers. Nothing explicit, but still very overt.
> 
> *While nothing is shown, there's a lot of implied domestic violence and child abuse in this fic. Please be careful.
> 
> On a separate note, I'm a hearing person, and thus it's entirely possible I messed up with the depictions of sign language in this fic. If you spot any mistakes, please let me know so I can avoid them in the future!

Clint's first clue that something is amiss is the smell of bacon.

The second clue is that he can feel his toes. That's actually more suspicious than the promise of breakfast; every once in a while Barney has a girl over and wants to impress her the morning after, but the heating in the Barton family crapshack never works. Dad refuses to pay to get it fixed.

The third and final clue is Natasha's face hovering over him when he opens his eyes. Her hair is damp from the shower and he can smell her shampoo. The whole thing feels a little like a wet dream and Clint is suddenly very aware of his morning wood.

"Nat?" He asks, and immediately realizes he doesn't have his hearing aids in. Natasha seems to already know this, because she doesn't reply verbally.

_'You passed out on the couch,'_ She signs. Clint takes his eyes off his girlfriend to look around the room; he is, in fact, in Mr. Coulson's living room. He's spent a lot of time in Natasha's foster home since she moved in a year and a half ago, but he's never slept here before. Coulson has rules about underage shenanigans.

Granted, Natasha is 18 now and technically not even his foster kid anymore. He doesn't seem to have any inclination towards kicking her out, though.

_'Is Coulson mad?'_ Clint asks. Natasha shakes her head.

_'I think he wants to adopt you as much as he wants to adopt us.'_

The other part of 'us' is Steve Rogers, Natasha's foster brother. She's starting referring to the two of them as a unit recently, and Clint is a little jealous. He's always been her other half and sharing the role makes him nervous.

_'Where are my hearing aids?'_ He asks, changing the subject. It's too early in the morning for stupid jealousy.

_'I put them on the coffee table,'_ Natasha signs, grabbing them to hand to him. He doesn't know how she got them off of him last night without waking him up. He has a pet theory that it's magic.

Putting them back on opens up the sounds of the Coulson household. The smell of cooking food is joined by kitchen noise and Steve's favorite oldies station. It's decidedly peaceful.

"Do I get some of that bacon?" Clint asks hopefully, finally pushing off the blanket someone had draped over him during the night. He's still half-hard, but he fell asleep in his jeans, so it isn't super noticeable.

"Take it up with Steve," Natasha says, watching him as he stands up. Clint thinks he sees her eyes dart down to his groin, but if she's noticed his boner, she isn't saying anything.

"Steve's cooking?"

_'He is on his best behavior because he is having Sam over today,'_ Natasha replies in sign language, smirking. Clint laughs.

_'There is no way Coulson is going to lift his open door policy while Steve's boyfriend is here.'_

_'Hope springs eternal,'_ Natasha signs as they walk into the kitchen.

Sure enough, Steve is standing over the stove, still in his pajamas. He must have let Natasha have the first shower.

"Any of that for me?" Clint asks, making a beeline for Steve to peer over his shoulder. Steve is short for 16, a side effect of a whole laundry list of health issues.

"That depends. You and Natasha gossiping about me in sign language again?"

Clint puts on his best innocent smile.

"Nat and me? _Gossip?_ We would never."

"Only about your sex life, don't worry," Natasha says mildly, joining Clint and Steve by the stove. Steve's ears turn pink.

"Have some class, 'tash, come on," Clint says, giving Steve his best puppy eyes. "I said nothing, I still deserve bacon."

Steve rolls his eyes.

"Fine."

Clint holds up a hand for Natasha to high-five. She leaves him hanging for an extended moment before going for it.

There's no more discussion of Steve's sex life after that, because Coulson comes downstairs. He's dressed down for the weekend, which basically just removes the tie.

"Morning, Phil," Natasha says, using her foster father's first name for mysterious Natasha reasons. Clint thinks it's probably some kind of power play.

"Good morning, Natasha, Steve. Clint," Coulson says, his pause drawing attention to the fact that Clint is still here. He doesn't sound annoyed, just interested.

"I'll be out of your hair after breakfast, sir," Clint says with a grin. Coulson waves him off.

"No rush. You know you're always welcome here."

Not for the first time, Clint wonders if Mr. Coulson knows about his dad. He's careful about hiding the bruises, but Coulson works with _and_ fosters 'troubled' kids. He might have noticed something.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere until all that bacon is gone," Clint says, trying to shake the weight of the offer.

"Do your parents know you stayed the night?" Coulson asks, which makes Clint think maybe he doesn't know after all. Clint's parents only know where he is when they're looking directly at him.

"I'll call them," He promises, because that's the least suspicious answer. "Nat, where'd I leave my phone?"

"It's probably between the couch cushions."

"Gotcha," Clint says, heading back into the living room to get his cell phone. After a minute's search, he finds it.

He has thirteen missed calls and two voicemails, all from his brother.

It's like someone poured ice water under his skin. He navigates to the voicemails with numb fingers.

**Clint, it's Barney. Pick up your damn phone, Mom fucking left. All her shit's gone. Dad doesn't know yet. If you want any of your crap, I'd get it now.**

**Fucking-- Clint, answer the phone! Dad's home, and I'm not sticking around. Call me!**

Clint can't breathe. He drops down onto the couch and drops his phone to run both hands through his hair. Shit. _Shit._ Hyperventilating won't help anything but he can't make it stop.

He doesn't know how long he's there before Natasha comes to check on him. She's footsteps and then she's a hand on his back, a steady voice coaching him through catching his breath. He can't remember any of her actual words.

His stomach slowly defrosts, but now his hands are shaking. Natasha picks up his phone from the floor. Clint hastily turns off his hearing aids so he doesn't have to listen to his brother's angry panic.

Natasha leaves the room and comes back with Coulson, Steve trailing behind. Clint doesn't want to look at them, but Natasha noticed him turn off his hearing aids. She taps him on the shoulder until he looks at her.

_'Come upstairs with me,'_ She signs. Her face is as serious as he's ever seen it, and he stands up without thinking about it. His legs feel like jelly.

Natasha takes him firmly by the arm and takes him up to her bedroom. It's as Spartan as always, decorated with a handful of posters for action movies with female leads and not much else. The only thing with any hint of sentimental value is the spider beanie baby on her desk-- Clint's birthday present to her when they were nine.

Natasha nudges him until he sits down on her bed.

_'What do you need?'_ She signs. Clint returns with the first thing that pops into his head.

_'My archery kit is at the house,'_ He feels stupid for worrying about it, but Natasha just nods.

_'I am going to bring you something to eat, then we will decide what to do.'_

Clint nods and takes a deep breath as she leaves the room. He'd forgotten about food entirely. Natasha is good in a crisis-- logistics first, then coping. She knows him well enough to know how much worse today would be on an empty stomach.

It's going to suck either way.


	2. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contents of this chapter include shenanigans, law-breaking and sam wilson

Steve really didn't expect Natasha to come right back downstairs. He doesn't know exactly what's going on, but between Bucky and Tony, he knows what a panic attack looks like.

Still, Natasha is a woman on a mission. She probably knows what she's doing.

"Natasha?"

"When is Sam supposed to get here?" She asks, no explanation offered. Steve blinks at her.

"About an hour, why?"

"We're going to need his car. Barnes is in therapy all day?"

She doesn't really need to ask. Bucky spends every Saturday in therapy.

"What are you planning?" Steve asks, not bothering to answer the Bucky question. Natasha is piling bacon and pancakes onto a plate with alarming efficiency.

"We're getting Clint's stuff. Text Sam. I want him ready to go as soon as he gets here."

And then she's gone, bringing the food with her.

*

"Go over this with me again. Slower this time," Sam's tone implies he thinks this is a _terrible_ plan. Steve kind of agrees, but he also knows he's going to to do it anyways.

"I'm going to pass things out the window to Steve, you help him get them into your car, then you drive us back here," Natasha's starting to get impatient.

"And if we get caught?"

Natasha leans down and grabs the baseball bat off Steve's bedroom floor.

"Jesus, Natasha, I meant what if he calls the _cops_! I'm black and you're a legal adult--"

"Clint's dad is a drug dealer."

" _Christ_. Okay. Yeah, okay, he probably isn't going to call the cops, then."

"You know, if I'm the least likely to get arrested, I could be the one to go in," Steve offers.

"Hell no," Sam says right as Natasha says "Nobody's getting arrested."

"You are not breaking into a drug dealer's house by yourself, Steve," Sam continues, which hits a nerve.

"But it's okay if Natasha does it?" He snaps back. Sam sighs heavily and takes Steve's hand. Steve allows it in spite of his irritation. He likes Sam's hands.

"No, it isn't. Where is Clint for all this? It isn't illegal if he's with you."

Natasha's face tightens.

"Clint is sleeping off the shock in my bedroom. I'd like to keep it that way."

Nobody mentions Coulson. He's downstairs looking up the legal specifics of the situation; Steve's not sure how Natasha is going to get past him.

"Alright. Then let's get this over with," Sam says, letting go of Steve's hand and standing up. Steve grins at him; of course Sam's going for it. He never turns away a friend in need. It's part of why Steve likes him so much.

Natasha hands Sam the bat.

"Take this out to the car. Steve, tell Coulson we're getting Clint some ice cream. You're a shit liar, so act worried, it'll mask your tells."

Steve almost protests, because he isn't _that_ bad at lying, but then he remembers that both Natasha and Coulson can pull your life story out of a single facial expression. Her standards are very high.

"Thanks for the tip," He says reluctantly, letting her lead the way out of his bedroom.

*

Unlike Steve's late mother, Coulson hasn't had a lifetime of living with Steve to learn his tells. 'Shit liar' or not, they get away with it.

It's Sam's car, so he's driving. Steve's boyfriend privileges include automatic shotgun, leaving Natasha in the backseat. She has the baseball bat resting shamelessly across her lap; Steve knows without asking that she's completely willing to use it if this goes south.

Clint's house is in the poorest part of town, and there's some kind of loud argument going on down the street. Steve can hear it before they even open the car doors.

"This is a terrible idea," Sam mutters to himself as he gets out to open the trunk. Steve follows him; Natasha is already off towards the back of the house. She's going to go in through Clint's bedroom window. The way she'd talked about that part of the plan implied she's done it before.

"Thanks for doing this," Steve says, leaning against the side of the car. Sam gives him a beleaguered smile and affectionately bumps their shoulders together.

"As if I'd let you do something this stupid without me."

Steve gives in to the impulse to kiss him. Sam lets it linger just long enough to give Steve butterflies before nudging him gently away.

"Natasha will use that bat on the both of us if you don't go help her."

Steve ducks his head to hide his smile.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

Natasha is waiting for him. She's already thrown Clint's blankets and pillows out the window, and she has an armload of clothes. Steve has no idea how she's going that fast; it would have taken him the same time to just get himself through the window.

"Take this," She says in a low voice, handing over the pile. He hurries back to the car with them; Natasha's urgency is catching.

"Man, please tell me those are clean," Sam groans as Steve shoves the clothes into the trunk.

*

The next few loads go off without a hitch. Steve gets handed Clint's archery gear, another armful of questionably-clean clothing, a huge stuffed dog with 'Lucky' written on the tag in a child's handwriting, a nintendo 64 covered in pokemon stickers, and Clint's fossil of a laptop.

Natasha is in the process of handing over a laundry basket full of old video games and yet more of Clint's underwear when a door slams somewhere in the house. They both freeze. Natasha comes back to herself first, shoving the basket at Steve.

" _Go_ ," She whispers, pulling herself up into the window frame as Steve struggles to adjust to the weight of the laundry basket. Natasha reaches behind herself to grab her baseball bat just as the door to Clint's bedroom swings open.

"Who the fuck--"

Natasha hits the ground running.

Steve keeps up the best he can, but his chest squeezes against the adrenaline and weight of the basket. _Fuck._

Steve hands the basket off to Sam and gropes around his pockets for his inhaler. Natasha notices; she shoves him into the backseat and follows him in.

"Steve?" Sam sounds worried, but Steve's attempt at a response turns into a cough.

"Sam, _drive_!" Natasha shouts. Sam slams the trunk closed and runs around the side of the car.

"Is that an asthma attack--"

"I've got it, just go!"

The car starts just as the Bartons' front door opens. Natasha finds Steve's inhaler in the pocket of his hoodie and shoves it into his face. Sam doesn't say anything as they pull off the curb, but he picks back up again as soon as they're moving.

"Is everyone okay?" Sam asks, looking at his passengers in his rear-view mirror. Natasha nods and Steve gives him a shaky thumbs up, still catching his breath.

"Christ. We have _definitely_ earned our ice cream."

"You know that was a cover, right?" Natasha says, raising an eyebrow.

"We just committed a felony. We are _getting_ ice cream."


	3. Clint

Clint wakes up to the pressure of another person sitting on the bed. For a few seconds, he thinks it's Barney, but Barney never lets him wake up gradually.

It's Natasha, eating directly from a tub of his favorite coffee ice cream. When she sees him looking, she ducks down to kiss him. She tastes like the ice cream and he kind of wants to make out with her for the rest of time.

Disappointingly, she pulls away long before time ends.

"The ice cream is for you," She says, helping herself to another spoonful. "Mine is the fudge brownie kind."

Clint is very confused, but his priorities are in the right order.

"Hey, if it's mine, hand it over!" He says, trying to grab the spoon from his girlfriend. Natasha snorts and lets him take it. He gets a good mouthful before he decides he should probably figure out what's going on.

"Is this to cheer me up?" He asks.

"Nah, the ice cream is to calm Sam down. _This_ is to cheer you up."

She lifts his bow up from her bedroom floor. Clint freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Holy shit," He says, shoving the spoonful of ice cream back into the carton so he can grab the bow. "Holy _shit_ , Nat, what did you do?"

"A little breaking and entering with our favorite juniors," She says, smug in a way that's only noticeable if you know her.

"You broke into my house? You broke into my house and Steve helped?" Clint says, stunned.

"Sam too. I didn't even have to bribe them."

Clint stares down at his bow in utter amazement.

"I-- _thank you_ ," He mumbles.

"We got Lucky, too. And your awful computer."

Clint starts laughing. God, he can't help it. He should have known she'd fix things. Natasha shows love with actions, not words.

"You're really something else, Nat."

She smiles and leans in to kiss him again. This one is even shorter than the last, and doubles as cover for stealing his ice cream again. Clint doesn't even care. He'll probably do the same with hers later.

"By the way, Coulson says you're allowed to stay in my room so long as you don't get me pregnant," Natasha adds conversationally.

" _What?_ " Clint says, half-choking on a startled laugh.

"I told you he wanted to adopt you."

"Yeah, that's great, go back to the sex part."

"He's fully aware that forcing us to sleep in different rooms would just lead to us getting creative."

"He _said_ that?"

"Almost word for word."

"Oh my _God_. Was Steve present for this conversation?" Clint asks, shaking with laughter.

"He was eavesdropping from the next room."

"This is the single weirdest day of my life."

*

Eventually, the ice cream starts melting and Natasha suggests getting Clint's stuff out of the car. Apparently she's only brought up the bow and the ice cream to avoid a commotion.

They find Sam and Steve downstairs, tangled together on the couch with the TV on.

"Are you watching SpongeBob?" Clint asks, leaning over the back of the couch.

"It's the episode with the hooks," Steve says, not moving his head from Sam's chest. He looks tired. Sam cranes his neck so he can look at Clint.

"How're you feeling, man?" He asks. Clint shrugs but smiles while he does it.

"Better. Um. Thanks, by the way. You didn't have to..." He glances through the door to the kitchen and spots Coulson. "Uh. Do what you did. Thank you."

Steve lifts his head to kiss Sam's jaw, clearly echoing the sentiment. It doesn't surprise Clint that Steve's into the selfless heroism thing.

"It was the right thing to do," Sam says, grinning. "Besides, Steve was going to do it with or without me."

"Ice cream is very important," Steve says, his voice completely deadpan. Sam snorts and Natasha outright _laughs_. Clint's pretty sure he missed something.

*

It takes the four of them 15 minutes to get everything out of Sam's car. They take more trips than are strictly necessary to keep the loads small, but Coulson isn't an idiot.

"So nice of you to buy Clint this many gifts," He comments dryly as Steve carries Clint's coffee-stained pillows up the stairs.

"Great friends, aren't they, sir?" Clint says with a grin, following Steve with an armload of dirty laundry.

"I'm going to pretend you got all of this from a thrift shop," Coulson sighs as he leaves them to it.

Clint always did like him.

*

Sam stays long enough to share the pizza they order for dinner. Steve kisses him in the doorway when he leaves.

It's only eight o'clock, but Clint is already itching to retreat to the haven of Natasha's room. He feels safe enough in the living room, watching Steve take notes on a news report for school, but he's _tired_. He wants to tuck his face into Natasha's neck and sleep there.

She must notice the way he's looking at her, because she stands up and offers him her hand. Clint takes it gratefully.

"We're going to bed," Natasha announces casually. Coulson sighs.

"Remember the conditions, Natasha," Coulson says in his best 'dad' voice. Steve looks up from the tv, glances from Coulson to their conjoined hands and turns just the faintest bit pink.

"We'll behave," Clint promises with a sheepish grin, his own face warm. It's weird to be in a room full of people right before he might get laid. Usually it happens in the privacy of his treehouse.

Natasha rolls her eyes at all three of them and leads Clint upstairs. She produces a toothbrush still in the wrapper for him and they get ready for bed in companionable silence.

Natasha changes into her pajamas with Clint in the room, modesty long gone. It's not a strip tease, but he has implicit permission to watch. She unclasps her bra with an ease Clint hasn't mastered; he swallows as the straps slide down her arms.

The t-shirt she pulls on to replace it is _his_ , grabbed from the pile of clean clothes in the corner of her room. Shield High Archery Team, 2015.

He hugs her. She's slender and a few inches shorter than him, but her hand curling around the back of his neck feels impossibly huge and important.

"Thought you'd like that," She whispers into his ear. Clint squeezes her a little and she trails her nails through his hair.

"I love you," He says softly, nuzzling his face into her hair. He doesn't say it much; Natasha doesn't like talking about feelings half as much as she likes doing something about them.

"I bought condoms on the way back from your house," She says, and Clint grins against her neck. She doesn't have to say it for him to know she loves him too.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is @[xenosaurus](http://xenosaurus.tumblr.com).


End file.
